Chains
by ItsJustMe1
Summary: Another one of those "after the island" stories in which the island guys are in their twenties. A special kick is that this story was NOT written for English class (: heh. It can stand alone, but I do have plans to continue.
1. Default Chapter

I watched people enter the church, some sniffling, others holding a blank look. I didn't recognize any of them. I didn't know if I would.  
  
Slowly, I looked around for a side door, or an unused entrance- anything to avoid seeing a minister. I had had my share of people telling me my life was a miracle. As much as I would like to think that there was a god somewhere that actually cared about all of those prayers of thanksgiving, I couldn't fool myself. I had already experienced hell. Believing in God was pointless.  
  
Maybe that's why I felt so uncomfortable in that church. Or perhaps it was because everyone was so stiff and unnatural. Only a few of us knew what death was really like.  
  
I slipped next to a petite lady with black hair streaked with stains of gray. Beside her sat her husband, an intellectual looking guy with gray hair combed neatly to the side for the nice occasion. Even they looked unnatural sitting there in those pews, but I suppose I did too. I guess I still wasn't immune to death.  
  
"Hullo, Ralph," The lady greeted me with a soft, rolling British accent. Immediately, I relaxed.  
  
"Hullo," I returned briefly. "Hullo, Sir," I added out of respect. I had every reason to respect them. Simon's parents were a big part of the reason I was functioning to this day.  
  
"It's nice to see everyone, isn't it?"  
  
I didn't answer. I didn't come to see people. In fact, I wasn't sure why I came.  
  
"I'm glad you came, Ralph," she spoke, as though she was reading my mind. "We, Peter and I," she clarified patting her husband, "were beginning to get worried. You haven't written in a while."  
  
I tried to smile. "You can't beat face to face communication."  
  
"Yes, but after living with us for three years you just can't expect to not drop a note by every once in a while." Adele smiled. "You know how important correspondence is."  
  
I sighed. "Yes." There was another silence. I didn't feel like starting a conversation. For some reason, the curtain shut in group situations.  
  
"We've been getting letters from you Mum," Simon's mother continued. "She told us you dropped out of school."  
  
I nodded. "People worry about stupid things. I couldn't handle it."  
  
Simon's father spoke up. "They always will."  
  
"You always have a place at our home," Adele smiled. "You're our son too, now, you know."  
  
I winced. I didn't deserve to be put on the same field as Simon, even fifteen years later.  
  
Thankfully, the minister interrupted my thoughts. "Today we are gathered to remember Percival ."  
  
Memories flooded back and enveloped me. I was trained to deal with them now, but suddenly, I felt suffocated. Simon and Piggy had died, and what funeral had they received on the island?  
  
I blinked away tears, blending in with the weeping people all around me.  
  
I needed a cigarette.  
* * *  
  
I wanted to leave as soon as the funeral was over. For some reason, it was just better that I remembered Percival as a young, ignorant youngun on the island. Accepting reality, I had learned, just made some things worse.  
  
But before I could jet away, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and looked at two identical faces.  
  
"Hullo," I smiled softly. They had different haircuts, but nothing else seemed to have changed.  
  
"Hello, Ralph."  
  
"Hullo!"  
  
"Haven't seen you since,"  
  
"Well the last funeral."  
  
"Maurice's."  
  
I nodded. "No, I suppose not."  
  
Another islander I recognized as a teenaged "youngun" strolled up. "Is this the reunion pew?"  
  
I looked around tensely. I had never been able to relax in their presence, as if the borders of the other tribe still separated us.  
  
"Let's go outside," Sam or Eric, I didn't know which one anymore, suggested. "I'm dying for a smoke."  
  
I licked my lips, and for the first time that day, actually wanted to go with the flow.  
  
* * *  
  
"You know," the one I learned was Sam started, "they want to have a reunion."  
  
"Like 15 Years Later," Eric continued.  
  
"See what happens sort of deal-."  
  
"And take us back to the island. They still finished each other's sentences.  
  
Another littleun that now towered over me spoke. "As if the whole ordeal didn't get enough press attention."  
  
"A man tried to get me to write a book." Someone else joined the conversation. "But I really don't remember a lot about it."  
  
"Too long ago."  
  
"A distant memory," somebody agreed.  
  
I glared at them in their innocence. How could anybody have been unscarred by the situation? Free to dismiss it like they did?  
  
"Why would anyone want to go back to the bloody island," I spat. I noticed the hand holding my cigarette was trembling.  
  
"And what a happy lot we are to do a report on," Eric commented.  
  
"With Jack in rehab," Sam began.  
  
"For the second time-"  
  
"And Robert in jail."  
  
Everyone fell silent. Things on the island may be easy to dismiss, but the crimes committed in the real world would not be accounted for. Robert had raped a child, and would probably never see the island again. I didn't feel that sorry for him.  
  
"It's a bad idea," I insisted. I didn't want to dwell on Robert, or Jack, or Maurice, or anyone else at this point.  
  
Sam butted out his cigarette and tossed it aside. "You're probably right, Ralph."  
  
"Always were."  
  
I looked at the faces of all of the island boys, saw them gazing up at me in admiration, and felt anger and desperation rise within me. Now they listen. What would happen if Jack was here?  
  
"I've go to go," I lied. In fact, I didn't know where to go, or what to do with anything.  
  
"Bye, Ralph."  
  
"Nice seeing you."  
  
I turned my back on them and walked away, wanting to get away from the church, from the funeral, and from the bloody island. 


	2. The Proposal

A/N: I figure if I want to stay sane, I have to get the story out of me. I'm sure you all know the feeling. (:  
  
____________________________________________________________________________ __  
  
I said I wanted to get away from the island, but the truth of the matter was it wasn't that easy. And as much as I wanted to blame the resurgence of feelings on the funeral and seeing everyone, that wasn't really the reason. I carried it around constantly. It was almost the beast inside of me.  
  
It wasn't as bad in college since I didn't have as much time to think about it. I had class, relationships, and careers, and a zillion other things to keep me busy. Yet, it wasn't enough. I would hear people talk about their hair, their clothes, a grade they weren't happy about, how they hated their parents, or a friend they were disagreeing with. God, those things are so petty.  
  
So, I figured I had enough hours and quit. My fame helped me get a decent job, and so far things had been all right. All right is about as good as it gets too, it seems.  
  
I was still rewinding scenes and playing them back again for weeks after the funeral. I really should have kept in touch with more people. It's not like what they thought fifteen years ago still shapes their beliefs and ideas today.  
  
"Yet," something seemed to tell me, "what's deep down inside of people never change."  
  
I shivered. A knock at my door finally interrupted my thoughts.  
  
I stood and opened the door, brimming with curiosity at who would visit on a weekday afternoon. A young woman with dark brown hair and a square jaw greeted me. She was dressed in a conservative business suit and was holding a yellow legal pad. Her brown eyes blazed with wit, and she stood upon a mound of confidence.  
  
"Hullo," She spoke first, and I felt her glance burn through my eyes.  
  
"Hullo," I pressed my door open a little farther. "May I help you?" I was pretty sure I had never seen this lady before.  
  
"Ahh," she smiled, and through her face relaxed her eyes maintained their intensity. "My name is Adriana Sumners." She extended her hand. "I'm a journalist."  
  
I accepted the hand. "Nice to meet you." It was an automatic response. I had had my share of journalists in the past years.  
  
"I'd like to talk to you." For the first time she broke eye contact, and peered inside my apartment. "Mind if I come in?"  
  
I blinked before stepping aside, her directness taking me by surprise. "Of course. Come in. Have a seat."  
  
She smiled. "Great." She slipped in beside me and took a seat on the couch, where I joined her.  
  
"You know," Adriana began. "You're awfully hard to get a hold of. I've already talked to everyone else."  
  
"Everyone else?"  
  
"You island boys." She situated her belongings. "I'm surprised no one mentioned it at the funeral."  
  
I eyed her. Apparently, she had been doing research recently if she knew about Percival's funeral.  
  
She looked as if she was waiting for me to respond, but I had nothing to say. "What I mean is, we're interested in a follow-up story. What happened to everyone after they got back from the island. You are all still quite famous. I was only ten or so when it happened, but I remember it quite well. "  
  
"You seem to already know what happened," I offered casually. "My life isn't that exciting."  
  
"Ahhh," she grinned, and her eyes flashed with excitement. "But see, there's more. We're going to take you back to the island. For the first time ever, you can show us- the world, that is- your island. How you lived. What you experienced. What kept you alive for all of those months."  
  
I looked away. "I don't ever want to go back there."  
  
"You're the only one that hasn't agree to it in some way or another. " Adriana was leaning on the edge of her seat, and she almost seemed to burst with intensity. From the few moments I knew her, I imagined she was a very good journalist. She had a very intimidating way about her.  
  
"Oh?" I tried to sound interested without showing my nervousness.  
  
"Yes. Sam, Eric, Bill," she slowed down, as if to make a point. "Simon's parents."  
  
It worked.  
  
"If they knew," I started to lose my confidence. "If they knew, they wouldn't want to."  
  
"Maybe not," she leaned back again, knowing that her words had had the effect she wanted them to. "It could represent a great sense of closure about the whole ideal. At least they'd know."  
  
I folded my arms. If only she knew about closure.  
  
"You're welcome to invite any family members that you want to come along. You mom, a girlfriend.just as long as it's not a whole circus. We'll leave in late May."  
  
She continued to throw out a few more details and I looked at her, sitting, contemplating, wishing she would just go away. Finally, I had to end it.  
  
"I'll consider it." I snapped. I had a feeling this was the least among I could say while still making her happy enough to leave.  
  
She just looked at me for a long time before standing. "All right then. I can't make you go."  
  
I stood as well, and felt as though a burden fell off of my lap. She seemed a lot smaller on her feet. After what seemed like minutes, she grabbed the rest of her belongings.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Ralph," Adriana smiled, as though she was a lawyer stepping off the interrogation stand. "I've read so much about you. It's nice to finally put a personality behind the story." She walked toward the door.  
  
I opened it for her, and she passed through calmly. "If you have any questions, call me." She handed be a business card. "Adriana Sumners."  
  
"Adriana," I asked her, and she turned around to face me. "I do have one question."  
  
Her eyes perked lit up even more. "Anything."  
  
"Why didn't you just call? Why the visit?"  
  
She grinned. "I'm a lot more convincing in person. Someone told me you'd be tough."  
  
I watched her, and the bitterness that I had never been able to shed clouded me once again. No matter how much pressure she put on me to go, I would just be apart of her news story. Too many journalists didn't seem to care about the constant struggle we went through.  
  
"Like I said, any questions."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I'll call you anyway. I know you'll come around."  
  
She gave a final wave, and her potent gaze pierced my brain.  
  
So much for burying the past. 


End file.
